September 13, 2008

When I went away to college, and lived in my first apartment, I was just dying to start cooking. My mother, a fantastic, creative cook, had set a high standard. She was a total control freak in the kitchen, and could not bear "help" of any kind, but she did permit spectators, and I was generally there, hovering, and carrying her delicious food to the table. I think this may be the best method ever for the psychological conditioning of future generations of enthusiastic home cooks. I learned a lot from watching, and as I was not allowed to participate, cooking seemed a privilege, rather than a duty.

It still does. And, after all, it is a privilege, to have the wherewithal to bring home baskets of lovely local produce, to afford some meat and poultry, to buy the nicest imported coffees, and to never run out of King Arthur's unbleached all purpose flour, when there are many, many people going hungry, and many more with no stove to cook on.

In any case, a couple of the many things I learned watching my mothers fine hand at work, were the importance of timing, and the benefits of keeping a hot summer kitchen from roasting the cook. The latter was especially important pre-air conditioning, but is still relevant for those of us who like to feel cool enough to be hungry for supper.

Quite a few of my more impressive early kitchen tricks were copied directly from my mother. The cacciatore /fricasee of chicken was a cornerstone of her dinner party cooking repetoire, embodying both principles, and allowing for all sorts of great variations. I got a lot of mileage out of these concoctions, which could be both homey and fancy. You browned the chicken in butter or olive oil, removed it briefly, sauteed some good combination of vegetables in a bit of the exuded fat combo, and deglazed the pan with wine, broth, tomato sauce or some combination thereof. The chicken and some herbs went back in the pan, to be covered and braised. These dishes could be done in the morning, without lighting the oven and reheated, with no last minute flurry- except perhaps the adding of a bit of cream sometimes, and sauce reduction.

There were all sorts of classic variants, or you could make up your own. I was especially fond of one done with mushrooms, artichoke hearts, tarragon, garlic and white wine. A friend used to make a recipe from a supermarket women's magazine, where the braising liquid was canned cream of mushroom soup with a little white wine, and there was grated gruyere in at the end. It was, frankly, delicious, and in those days, we were far less suspicious of and /or embarrassed by prepared foods with mysterious chemical additives.

If there were no potatoes in the veg mix, you could make some plain noodles or rice, and put some pan juices on top. A green salad, crusty bread for moping up, and you were good to go. Pretty much everyone liked this sort of food- so what happened? Why did I stop making this sort of chicken? It was really a perfect solution for jazzing up fairly tasteless supermarket chicken, was it not?

I am not entirely sure, but I think that supermarket chicken has deteriorated in quality, even since the 1980s. They were already less tasty than the best free-range hens our ancestors presumably had, if they were lucky enough to afford chicken, but there was still some decent texture. It may be my imagination, but I think mass produced chickens are getting mushier and flaccid? Is this craziness on my part? In any event, that's what it seemed like to me. So, I sort of began making only the sort of chicken dishes that firmed up- roasted, grilled, sauteed, and abandoned the tenderizing cacciatore type dishes.

I've noticed that the 2 free range chickens which I get each month from the neighbor of my CSA farmer, delivered one week each month with my vegs, have, in addition to excellent flavor, a welcome toothsomeness. So I thought I try a scratch version of the gruyere topped stuff, and I'm here to tell you, it was great. And it is also very easy, as long as you have a proper organically raised free range chicken. You will definitely want some crusty bread for mopping up the pan juices here. I won't pretend it's diet food- but it is special occasion worthy, IMHO.

Cut up your chicken and dredge it with flour which you have seasoned with salt, sweet paprika and pepper. Brown it very thoroughly in butter in a heavy skillet or saute pan which has a cover and can go, coverless, into the oven. Make sure it is quite thoroughly browned, as the longer, damp cooking will make it pale, otherwise. Remove the chicken from the pan, and deglaze with 3/4 of a cup of dry white wine.

Reduce the wine by half. Put the chicken back in the pan with chunks of carrots and a fair number of peeled shallots, a branch each of fresh tarragon, thyme and parsley. Add 1/2 cup of broth. Partly cover, and cook very slowly until quite tender, adding a bit of broth or water if the liquid gets too low. I cannot tell you how long this will take, it really depends on your chicken. It is easy to overcook supermarket chicken; my farm chicken takes longer. so you will need to poke at it a bit to be sure.

You can stop now, and cool and refrigerate until just before serving. If you do that, bring it to a simmer before you go on. Stir in 2/3 cup of heavy cream, blending with the pan juices, and sprinkle the top with a generous handful of coarsely grated gruyere, or other swiss type good cheese. Run under the broiler until the top is brown and bubbly, and serve, with the aforementioned crusty bread and some salad.

September 07, 2008

I was surprised, after some rummaging among past posts, to find that I have never before written about deviled eggs, as there is very nearly nothing I like more. I was even more surprised to find that I had a bit to learn on the subject, since I thought the case was, for me, closed.

I knew that there were various French variations on stuffed eggs, which included asparagus, or shrimp, and the like. That was fine with me, and these were mostly very nice, but could not hold a candle to the classic: Hard-boiled egg white halves, stuffed with a mixture of mashed yolk, English mustard, mayo, salt and pepper, and, finally, sprinkled with some paprika, smoked Spanish or regular, or maybe, if I was feeling a little extra was called for, ground chipotle. No pickle juice here. End of story.

I was therefore disconcerted to discover, in the Sunday NYTimes Men's Fashion Supplement*, a recipe for stuffed eggs Caeser salad style, which is a worthy alternate. I was also surprised to learn, courtesy of Jacques Pepin, that a few minutes upside down in a frying pan can have an amazing, and praise-worthy effect on a deviled egg . A caveat: the new egg recipe is not for anchovy haters- nor is the Caeser salad itself, for that matter. And, a happy happenstance: the Caeser eggs are particularly suited to the Pepin effect.

Even if you are as stuck on the classic as I have been, you may want to try these both ways. Nearly as simple as the original, and that is a plus, in my book. The cold ones are great with whiskey or gin drinks, and the warm ones make a nice sit-down first course, or a lunch.

This is how you make the basic Caeser egg, as amended by me (I don't like the idea of coming upon a bit of chopped raw garlic while nibbling my egg.):

Rub the garlic clove over the interior of a small to medium bowl. Cut eggs in half, and add the yolks and all the other ingredients, except paprika, into the bowl. Mash thoroughly, and stuff halved whites. Sprinkle with paprika and display cunningly on your depression glass dish or in Tupperware...they will all be eaten, either way.

Now, with your regular deviled eggs, or your Caeser eggs, you can make a sort of deconstructed Caeser salad. Dress some romaine with a little bit of garlicy vinagrette and set it on a serving dish, or several smaller plates, with a few homemade croutons, if you are so inclined. Film the bottom of a heavy frying pan with olive oil, and heat it up. Set the eggs in the pan in a single layer, carefully, yolk side down. Cook them at a medium-low heat until the yolk is nicely caramelized and brown. Mine took 5 minutes.

Set them atop your salad, arranged prettily, and consume. They are nice without the lettuce, too, but you should still have them with a knife and fork, on a plate...unlike the cold version, which are perfect for eating out of hand , at picnics. Also, if you put two cold ones yolk to yolk, and wrap them up, they are the best ever little treat in a packed lunch.

*A strange item, no? I always read the Times style items with interest, and they are so often a source of amusement. I fear my amusement may be a symptom of my own depravity, though. How can I chuckle over a spread featuring chic modern models portraying starving depression era hobos, in mock-rags of cashmere with thousand dollar price tags? This display appeared not too long ago in a similar NYTimes style magazine.

Who was this for, and why? Has Marie Antoinette been playing milkmaid games again? Maybe someone there should take a moment to remember how she ended up.

In any event, apparently deviled eggs have become fashionable, much in the manner of upscale mac and cheese. Oh well.

August 30, 2008

It is nearly September, and local Italian prune plums have begun to appear. It is time to go (plum) crazy eating them and cooking them up. As I do every year, I am making my daughter's plum cake. Repeatedly.

She, who is also known as the redfox, of the hungry tiger, writes an excellent food blog, and she has been around a lot longer than I have, though it seems like a funny thing to say about one's child. She helped me overcome my computer klutziness sufficiently to set up here, taught me the meaning of html, and exhibited remarkable patience throughout.

She is a very good cook, and this is her recipe, which appeared in the hungry tiger back in 2002. You can find it there, and see how simple it is? Pretty and delicious, and just the thing with a cup of tea. Or with your breakfast coffee.

I have deviated slightly, using a vanilla bean, scraped, instead of the extract. This is because I recently went mad, and bought a pound of gorgeous vanilla beans wholesale. About which, more later. Also, I use demarara sugar in the topping, because I am a sucker for a bit of sparkle. I make this cake frequently in the fall. Everyone likes it. There is only one bowl to wash. It keeps well. And that is all I have to say about that, for now. Bring on the plums!

Excuse the mysterious, swirling darkness of the photo. I took it indoors, due to the rain. I have definitely not mastered the non-daylight photo taking. Had I waited until it stopped raining, the cake would have been entirely gone.

August 10, 2008

Why might a person love to make lists, rules, and lists of rules? Bossy boots? Obsessive tidiness (no, can't be that); control freak? Well, who cares, really? It's a good game.

What do you need for a well stocked pantry? If you could only have 10 foods on your desert island, what would you chose? Which five kitchen tools are absolutely essential? Whoa- lists of lists? It's a form of entertainment. And where, as here, no one has to follow the rules, it can't hurt, except insofar as wasted time can be construed as damage.

It won't be me doing the construing. As far as I'm concerned, time pleasantly wasted is time well spent. If you wish to join me in this diversion, I invite you to add to these rules, or vote against them, via comment. This is what the rules are about today:

Many people are averse to the consumption of hot soup in hot weather. I eat soup all year round, and find that hot soup, like hot tea, can, in fact, be cooling. Nonetheless, when a summer soup is going to be the meal, there may be a dilemma. Because though hot soup can be refreshing in the heat of August, few fancy a weighty goulash, a crusty french onion gratinee, or chicken and dumplings.

On the other hand, unless you are a fragile Victorian female laced so tightly into your corset that you can barely lift your head from the fainting couch, a delicate clear boullion does not make a meal. Hence- my rules (deduced after much trial and error) for making a hot summer soup that while not too heavy, makes a satisfying supper. (These rules do not apply to cold soups, which are another, uh... kettle of fish.) The soup in the photo is an example that does the trick for me. I'll tell you what's in this one, but the general idea is that the rules make a sort of master recipe, from which you can assemble your own mix:

1. Use a very rich, preferably home made broth for your base. For the most part, creamy soups, if not chilled, are less summery. If you think your broth is a bit weak, cook it down. (This is a good reason for barely salting your broth when you make it.) A reduced broth, with a bit of a gelatinous quality is invigorating without being heavy. It can feel as if it is going right to your finger tips. Which is why we give it to sick people, I suppose.

2. Use a variety of seasonal vegetables, sliced fairly thinly. Some good ones are carrots, yellow and orange; summer squash (not too much, as they can be soggy); edame; snap peas; mushrooms, scallions; asparagus. Just before serving, toss in a handful of leafy greens to wilt. The vegetables should be cooked until soft, but not mushy. It is nice, though , of course unnecessary, to go for pretty shapes.

3.Pick one or two fresh herbs, and make the soup really aromatic: Use some when you are heating the broth, save some more, finely chopped or chiffonade to toss in just before serving.

4. Add a dumpling, noodles, and/or thin slices of meat, fish or poultry- but avoid chunkiness. Good choices include shrimp sliced in half lengthwise (they curl attractively as they cook), ramen or bean thread type noodles, and especially, little asian-style dumplings. These are easy to make with prepared wonton or dumpling wrappers, which are lovely and thin and slippery when cooked. You can make these in about 10 minutes, freeze them on parchment-lined cookie sheets, and bag them for future soup and other uses. Here is one excellent recipe. If you are feeling lazy, you can buy some very nice ready made frozen ones.

5.Just before serving, along with the herbs and leafy greens, add a bit of fresh lime juice, lemon juice, or rice wine vinegar to brighten up the flavors. I like some freshly ground pepper there too.

And that is all.

The pictured variation is a rich turkey broth, cooked up and simmered with a chunk of ginger and smashed lemongrass, fresh cilantro, and Thai basil. Veggies are carrots, squash, scallions, edame, and baby spinach. There are a few split shrimps and some broken ramen noodles (just a bit), as well as the shrimp dumplings in the linked recipe. It was finished with chopped Thai basil and cilantro and some rice wine vinegar. But that's just one example.

July 04, 2008

I am a long-time fan of slow-cooked greens with smoked pork and cornbread. It is a mainstay of american home-cooking, and can be one substantial, stick to your ribs inducement to heavy labor. Or, in the alternative, it is an excellent lead-in to a big old, afghan-covered long winter's afternoon nap. Despite its southern origin, it is not really a hot weather dish at my house.

I have a personal craving for dark bitter greens which is sometimes so intense that I think it must signal a nutritional deficiency of some kind. So when the collards showed up in the CSA farmbox this week, there was no question that I was going to be eating them. All. Up. This is a dish simultaneously so utterly simple and so baroquely fusionesque that describing it as if it had "origins" is entirely ridiculous. Naturally, I can't resist. However, basically, it is a room temperature salad.

Checking epicurious in the hopes of finding a recipe for collards that seemed summery, I came upon the main recipe, which is a Brazilian method for cooking ribbon-cut collards very quickly in the fat rendered from a couple of chopped slices of bacon. In need of my cornbread to go with, I came upon the remains of some polenta with parmesan from last night, which I had spread in a cakepan and refrigerated. This got cut up into cubes, which were browned and tossed in.

The result is a chewy room temperature Brazilian/Italian/Pittsburgh hillbilly salad, which made a very satisfying summer lunch. This is how you make it- enough for 2 people. I made it in my wok, because it is a good pan for cooking down food of serious volume. You have plenty of room to stir it around. A big saute pan would be fine, too.

Cut the bacon into small pieces, and cook in a large pan until crisp. Meanwhile, prepare the collards. Cut both sides from the tough center stem and bottom stem of each leaf. Stack the leaves in a tidy pile and cut in half cross-wise. Roll each half into as tight a roll as you can, cut into thin ribbons and put in a bowl.

Preheat your broiler, and spray the polenta cubes with olive oil spray, or toss in a little olive oil. Place them in a single layer on a foil-lined pan, and broil until crispy and browned, keeping a close eye on them. It is best to brown them quickly, so the center will not get tough...but as they are small, they could burn easily-be careful!

Once the bacon is crisp, add all the greens to the pan with a bit of salt, some pepper, and the red pepper flakes. Stir them until wilted, toss in the polenta cubes, and serve. Or, let it cool down a bit first. This is very chewy, you could cook it longer if that's totally not your thing, but I think it would lose quite a bit of its character. And I am not a person who generally goes for seriously al dente veg. Obviously, you could also cook some onions in the bacon fat, or add red wine vinegar, or raisins. but I like the plain article, and , of course, it is very, very easy.

The polenta cubes may seem like a bit of a pain- and they would be if you fixed them specially. But if you just make some nice soft polenta to go with your dinner the night before, and do a bit extra- the next day the collards thing is easy-peasy, as Jamie Oliver might say.

June 28, 2008

There's some rule-breaking involved, but I think you might approve . I'm not certain how I know this, but I'm almost sure that it is a firm rule of traditional Italian cookery that cheese and fish do not belong together. It is not even the thing to grate a little parm over your linguini with clam sauce. In this case, though, it's all for the best- I promise. What we have here is a more summery version of pasta with tomato sauce and "meatballs", wherein the meatballs are made from fresh tuna. And there is a little bit of parm in there. Unlike the sturdy, traditional winter version of spaghetti and meatballs, which it closely resembles, it is suitable for making, and eating, when it is 90F. I speak from experience; it's been damn hot.

I think this is a tasty combination- nice and unusual, not strange or off-putting. I've messed around with the underlying ideas to the point that I believe I have may have actually made something novel. Which I haven't done all that often, ever. Probably someone has already made it elsewhere- there's not all that much new under the sun food-wise and pasta sauce is a big area for fooling around. But I think it is pretty good, and that's the important thing, no? It's got that make-ahead feature, too- you can reheat the sauce when you are boiling the pasta. And even the leftovers were nice.

The "meatballs" would be good in a plainer homemade tomato sauce too. As you can see, the resemblance is-well I can hardly call it uncanny, since they are both spheres in a red sauce- but, well, close.You should probably tell any guests that it's tuna, so they won't be weirded out, expecting a meat taste, when the mouth says, "fish."

Here's how you make it:

Spaghetti with Tuna Meatballs in Fennel-scented Tomato Sauce with Chard and Raisins

Put everything in a food processor and pulse until very finely chopped, but not pasty. Make into as many meatballs as you like, and place them on a parchentlined tray or pan. This will make enough to serve three. If you are two, you can make 2/3 of the mixture into meat balls, and one into a patty, to saute or bake, and have on a bun. This is an extra-nice lunch for a cook making dinner for two. Chill in fridge until sauce is ready, at least an hour, to be sure they are firm.

Cook the fennel, garlic and oniony items until soft, in a bit of olive oil. Add everything else, except the chard, lemon and meatballs, bring to a boil, turn to simmer, and cook about an hour, until the sauce begins to darken. add the chard, and stir until it wilts. Add the meatballs gently, and poach until done through, about ten minutes, sirring in the lemon juice after about 5 minutes. Adjust seasoning, and serve with plenty of spaghetti. You can cook the spaghetti while you finish the sauce, or cool the sauce, refrigerate it, and gently reheat it.

I haven't tried freezing it yet, but I'm going to soon. when you serve it, you can set the meatballs on a plate, or on the outside of individual pasta bowls, toss the sauce with the cooked spaghetti to coat, and then put the spaghetti in the middle of the plates, nudging the "meatballs" on top. It looks pretty sprinkled with fresh fennel fronds. IMHO. Once I added some capers, and that was nice, too.

June 13, 2008

A report from the bad blogger: So where is the roundup? Why haven't you heard from me? Where's my banner?
The shortest, truest answer is sloth, on the part of the undersigned.

In more detail: There was insufficient response on the Terrinereama front to warrant much of a roundup. I think I picked a topic which may have appeared fussier and more complicated than it actually is, putting people off. In any event, I do have a winner of the cookbook. She is Solange, of Just Baking. Her terrine can be found here, and her book will be on the way in short order.

You haven't heard from me because I'm having a lazy patch. I expect to have a new post up within the week, as I'm making something I hope will be fun. I love writing this blog, and have never viewed it as a chore. I don't intend to start treating it like work...so if I don't feel like writing it..I don't. There are an awful lot of old posts available if you feel like browsing the categories...unlike my banner, they have not mysteriously disappeared.

Typepad assures me that they are working on the mysterious disappearing banner issue. I really hope that they can restore it..I don't have it backed up anywhere, because I m a fool. I patched it together with inadequate software, no experience, and some good luck, on my old (late) computer. I was very attached to it, despite its inadequacies.

Good News: If you live in the Pittsburgh area, and have a garden that's not all planted up yet, the Urban Farm in Wilkinsburg still has a good selection of naturally grown seedlings available. This is a great boon, because it's getting really hard to find what you want at this late date. They have heirloom varieties and seem very interesting indeed- I hope to go visit them soon. You can find out more about them and proprietor Mindy Schwartz through their website.

See you soon.

Every once in a while, I suffer a setback in my ongoing battle with myself to keep from posting pictures of my cats in this inappropriate forum. It's a slippery slope, as I am totally non-objective on the issue of how delightful and fascinating they are. Once I get going, there's a major danger of overkill. This would be Archie, who is unimpressed with the excuses cited above.

October 13, 2007

Call me crazy, but my favorite bit (apart from seeing my friend Cindy, of course) of my little New England holiday was the sperm whale skeleton at the Nantucket Whaling Museum. Is it not awesome? You can see the size of the whale, as compared to the whaling boat below it. How would you like to ride for hours in one of those, attached by a harpoon to an angry whale trying to detach you and your whaling cohorts?

We heard a talk, and saw a whaling film from 1922. Also, though you can't see this, really, in the photo, the whale is almost all head, with a curved pre-historic looking tail, but also these amazing flipper-things. The flipper bones are exactly like the skeleton of a huge human hand- all the digits, and knuckles -everything. Oh, what can I say, I am a big geek. I adored it.

The Whaling Museum, and indeed Nantucket in general, is in such quiet, pretty good taste as to set off warning bells. Cindy thought her daughter, who has very specific, somewhat spartan aesthetic standards, wouldn't like it- for being too picturesque and perfect, and I could definitely see what she meant.

We stayed in a grey shingled B and B with shining white trim, in a sweet attic room with sloping ceilings, and crisp white cotton curtains, whch was perfectly coordinated with all the rest of the surrounding pretty houses, set off by just enough really nice flowering shrubs, and brick and cobblestone streets.

I was somehow just fine with it, anyway, despite the whiff of expensive stage set- it just completely hit the spot for unboring restfulness. It was delightfully cool- as compared to the ridiculous record-breaking high temperatures at home. Also, I just really like seeing sailboats in water. Does something for me every time. I should get a toy boat for my bathtub.

We took the ferry from Hyannis, lugged out suitcases up the steps at the B and B, and basically spent the rest of the weekend wandering about lazily, looking at the museum, shops, sailboats and menus in the numerous restaurant windows, deciding what to eat later. We had some damned good food, which sort of surprised me. Not that I was expecting to be poisoned- I realize that the general moneybags summer Nantucket crowd would expect, and get a decent effort, but I hadn't hoped for actual wonderfulness. And we had some wonderfulness, plus quite a bit of very goodness. The food was a real treat.

We hadn't done much in the way of research about food ahead of time- just a wee bit of an egullet scan. This revealed a number of good candidates for serious breakfasts, and I do love breakfast out. But the B and B came with a perfectly adequate buffet breakfast, so we didn't try any of that. Our two best meals were dinners, one casual, one dress-up. At the Brotherhood of Thieves- which may be better known as a bar than restaurant, I think, we had a local not-too-pale pale ale (forget name-sorry), and shared some oysters. Cindy had a really good big dinner salad- and I had a lobster BLT which was excellent- with, inter alia, huge chunks of lobster in mayo- plus outstanding curly french fries of total fresh hotness. I would be happy to have that meal again several times over.

At The Bistro at le Languedoc (fancy but comfortable, dark, quiet-ish, plenty of space between big tables, long wine list), we each had the same entree. It was sweetbreads and pork cheeks- 2 each- in a deep red-brown madeira sauce with itty bitty onions and peas, over a soft puree of sweet potato. I kind of picked it because it was that-which-you-cannot-get-at-home, and I love sweetbreads. I had read of pork cheeks-but never had any before. Wow-they set each other and everything else off a treat. I was so not disappointed, and pretty much wound up licking the plate. There was excellent crusty bread, which looked ordinary, but was outstanding, so I went the mopping it up route-I couldn't bear to leave any. Cindy also though it was all great. By far the best food I've eaten out for a good long time.

The Bistro's menu is a little puzzling at first, but the waiter explained, when asked. Entrees seemed divided into two types-the usual and the unusual, though not so-labeled. The unusual entrees were available both in full and small sized portions. The full-sized portions (we had these) were just right- neither skimpy arty little dodads, nor giant, gotta-have-a-doggie bag opulent. Only the anoerxic would seriously want a half sized portion for dinner- but these entrees did not seem the sort of things you'd want for an appetizer, either. Per the waiter, the half sized portions were for those unsure of their reaction to the more novel items. Still, I don't see what the rest of their order would be. This was of no consequence to us, as we didn't fear any of the more creative entrees, and had a hard time choosing.

Also at the Bistro, there was a super good classic creme brulee for dessert. Someone once said that the true test of a restaurant, or chef, or something- was the quality of the simple roast chicken and the creme brulee. Despite the ring of affectation..I think it's probably true. Cindy had a sort of deconstructed tart tatin- she seemed to think it was nice, but wasn't moved to tears or anything. I did taste it, but was by then so stuffed that I don't really remember it. I sure would like to eat there again some time.

I'm kind of winding down with the yakking here, though I probably should mention some expensive, but really good homemade icecream- at a place the name of which I forget, but it's just right by the ferry. There was blackberry-so good, and there was green tea/ginger- also so good.

Oh, and there was shopping of the sort to induce dawdling, including a shop called Majolica, filled with an incredible selection of the same, with many eccentric individual pieces. There were antique shops of several kinds. I bought a couple of things, one at a Tibetan shop. There I got me a warm, pretty winter hat of black velvet, lined in silk with a satin ribbon and a border of fake fur (per the proprietor, whose father made the hat, the D.Lama suggests the use of the fake fur whenever reasonably possible, instead of the real article!). I have a giant head, like an extra large man's hat size- so it was both unusual and cheering to find a nice hat that neither sits atop my skull like a clown's derby nor looks as if it was meant to be worn by a lumberjack. I almost wish I'd bought two- there was another very nice one which also fit.

I also found some slippers to take to my two year old relative (first cousin twice removed -ha- sort of a grandcousin) Ella, when I go to England in February. These are like tiny multi-colored bear feet, beautifully made and lined, and with 3 golden fabric claws on each foot. I think they will make her look like she is from Where the Wild Things Are. Which, judging from her pictures, she already rather does- a Sendak-ish lovely little face.

Ah well, I am a bit wistful about being back to home and work. I liked those gray clouds and sailboats..I do believe the salt air and gray skies are therapeutic, and that ocean breezes blow the cobwebs out. Also, islands are cool. I think I'd better go cook something. In honor of the (at last) cool weather, I'm going to make Arlette's pea soup.

August 10, 2007

I have been making a homely supper/indoor picnic for my friends, while re-perusing the classic spiral bound cookbook White Trash Cooking, and debating about what sort of potato salad to make. That's not the potato salad you see there, but another not-so- green salad, to be named later. I figure just about every body knows what a basic American potato salad looks like.

I had a big mason jar of Clem's ambrosial barbeque sauce that I brought home with me, which I do, pretty much annually, stopping at Clem's barbeque pit on the way back from our work conference in State College, PA. I also bring home half a rack of fire-pit barbequed ribs- but those disappear shortly after I make sure the cats are okay, and well before I unpack. A week or so later, I make a supper of pulled pork sandwiches, coleslaw, potato salad, and some kind of cobbler or pie. It's a thing.

The coleslaw recipe is a fixture- non-negotiable, in this context, anyhow. but I am always open to potato salad variations, from the hokiest to the haute-ist. Potato salad is a tremendously versatile dish, a blank canvas for the painting of, well whatever- I'll let this wonky metaphor fade on out- you probably know what I mean, anyway. For this meal, though, I thought something down-homey would be compatible- hence the book.

Whenever I consult WTC, I am surprised and a little embarassed to recall just how little most of the recipes appeal to me. I think of myself as a lover of plain home cooking, fried chicken, biscuits, greens, etc, but much of this stuff is pretty sickly, though intriguing. A lot of processed foodis involved- cake mix dumped on some peaches for a cobbler, canned vegetables and soups in casseroles, and the like. The book is full of strong, admirable characters, and is utterly noncondescending- so what am I, some kind of food snob? I don't know. I certainly don't scorn the use of humble, unlikely, or hokey ingredients- I make a chicken thing with coca-cola- and it's good. But a ton of these recipes-I can tell I'd hate them.

I greatly prefer, southern/country cooking-wise, most of the recipes in the books of Edna Lewis, with or without Scott Peacock, her buddy, fellow chef, and, at the end- her caretaker. There are lots of recipes with titles that are the same as those in WTC, but they are different, sound good, and taste good when you make them. You can tell they come from the same place and time- Scott Peacock even recalls the very same cake-mix cobbler recipe, as being tasty, but a bit "oversweet". He notes that while his mother used supermarket biscuits in her blackberry cobbler- he makes his from scratch. These guys are chefs, though, not home cooks like me. E.L. was from a country cooking tradition, but she was a sophisticated person, who spent many years cooking professionally, and writing about food.

I guess these two were looking to the food of the generation before S.P.'s mother's era...folks who didn't have the option of adding gratuitous doses of chemical novelties to the food they grew and raised. When all that stuff appeared for the first time- cake mix, Cool Whip, packaged biscuits, jello and pudding, it must have been irresistable, fun and magical-especially to people who did hard physical work all day, and were used to a lot of laborious cooking as well. Once considered special, and a treat, these instant gratification foods are so much a part of our culture that we may be considered annoying elitists if we avoid them .

Surprisingly, though, these two cookbooks offer virtually the same potato salad recipe, except that the Lewis/Peacock version has cider vinegar, and the WTC one uses pickle juice. So that's what I made, and it is nice. It is basically boiled potatoes, cubed, mayo, a little chopped onion, a little brown mustard, hard-boiled egg yolks, a little cider vinegar, salt and pepper. Very basic, very good. I generally add a little celery seed and some finely chopped fennel or celery.The more egg yolks you add, the better it is, no question There is no potato salad more elemental, and pretty much everyone eats it.

Which brings me to the salad you see in the photo- this is a "BLT Salad", which sounds like a refugee from WTC, but was actually found in a Lewis/Peacock book. Like the potato salad, it has an added luster when prepared mostly from fresh veg from my CSA farmbox. (The coleslaw, too- there was a crispy, beautiful cabbage this week.) This is how you make it:

Wash and dry some very crispy lettuce- we had romaine, (but even iceberg would be better than something soft or buttery), cut it up and top with chunky croutons, freshly made from good white bread; crispy bacon cut into squares; and a beautiful tomato or two, cut into smallish cubes. Add salt and pepper, and just before serving, toss with just enough good mayonaisse to coat it lightly. So very good. But how could it not be?

There is some green in this salad after all, but what with the bacon and mayo, it ain't exactly your palate-cleansing pile-o-greens. Still.

August 04, 2007

I had me a dose of some kind of evil stomachbug this week. It was only really nasty for about 36 hours, but it had a lead-in of queasy, and is still having residuals by way of fatique and beat-up achiness. (Aren't you glad you stopped by for the whining?) In the winter, a traditional chicken noodle or mazoh-ball soup would have been the way to go for restorative dining, once the worst was over, but in the middle of a heat wave, that is a bit less appealing. As you know, I am a champion of hot soup for hot days; it's only that a different kind of hot soup seems in order.

My ideal curative hot soup for summer illness (fantastic for colds) is the atypical wonton soup at Tram's, my friendly local Vietnamese restaurant of choice. It is available in a large size which is more than enough for a full dinner, and it features bundle-shaped wontons, plus a serious wallop of lemongrass. I swear that no sinus infection can survive it- and it is delicious, which is not something you can say about your average nasal spray. Indeed, I often order some when I am feeling dandy. The thing is, you have to go out to get it, which you may not always wish to do when you are feeling punk, and looking like the cat recently dragged you in.

One cool thing about lemongrass, is that you get a lemony (though distinctively different) flavor without the citrus juice. This is particularly handy for a cold plus stomachache situation, when a person might long for lemon, cold-wise, but be wary of the intestinal effects of a lovely glass of, say, lemonade. If I haven't totally killed any vestige of your appetite by now, I'm going to tell you about my beware-of-trying-this-at-home version. It's not so bad, though a bit different. For one thing, at Tram's the soup is not in any way chartreuse.

I was inspired to try this when having a sandwich supper in my friends' backyard, after a draggy tired day at work, playing with the beautiful baby we all adore, and guzzling cold gingerale. I am lucky indeed to have such excellent friends, for whom you do not need to spiff up. I'm sure I could have gone in my pajamas, and while they would have made endless fun of me, they also would not have minded. And they could do the same at my house. Life is good.

In my friends' compact, but highly productive vegetable garden, there is an herb patch which is thriving like crazy, containing an out of control, huge lemongrass area. I was encouraged to raid it, and did. After supper we all went to Brewsters , where I abandoned all efforts to moderate my food, and consumed a huge coffee ice cream in a waffle cone (labeled "small"!) I had dragged a giant braided clump of lemongrass along with me, and then home- so I'm in good supply. Nothing seems to have recurred, tummy-wise- despite the ice cream-so that's good. I'm still kind of wiped-out though. I thought I'd try some self-pampering and made this soup today.

I had some wonton wrappers and homemade stock in the freezer, and I do think a good stock is important for this sort of thing. I took the wrappers out to defrost, and warmed the stock. This is what you need:

I did not make tiny bundle style wontons ala Tram's (I don't do them at all well), but rather my kindergarten wontons-the technique for which is identical to my kindergarten raviolis- though fillings may be varied at will. Into the food processor put about one third of the turkey meat, cut in cubes, the garlic, one knob of the ginger, half the cabbage leaves, the inner core of a lemongrass stalk, chopped very finely- about 1/2 tsp, a splash of soy, and a drop of the sesame oil. Pulse this until it pasty, and use it to fill the wontons as follows:

Arrange pile of wonton wrappers, a little cup of water, and the filling on a flat surface. Line a tray with parchment paper. On the flat surface, set one noodle square, and plop a ball of filling, about 3/4 tsp in volume, in the center of it. Dip a second wrapper in the cup of water, and set it on top of the first. Pick it up and press them together, eliminating any pockets of air , and tucking the noodle neatly around the filling. Set on tray. Repeat until everything is used up.* Set tray in freezer. When firm and dry, turn each wonton over carefully, so they do not stick, and the 2nd side can dry. You can dust the paper with cornstarch ahead of time to prevent sticking, but I find the parchment release action is sufficient. Leave those babies in the freezer until ready to cook- or- when they are very solid- bag them and keep frozen for future festivities.

Lemongrass Wonton Soup

Put the stock into a soup pot and add the rest of your turkey or chicken, the rest of the lemongrass, a clove of garlic, and the other bit of ginger. Bring to a boil, skim, then simmer until the meat is done, enjoying the aromas, and possibly leaning over the pot from time to time, inhaling. With a slotted spoon, fish out the turkey, garlic, lemongrass and ginger. Discard, except for turkey, and, of course, the soup. Remove the meat from the bone, shred it, and return a bit of it to the pot, saving the rest for something nice tomorrow. add the squash, shredded cabbage, and lettuce, and bring to a boil. Adjust for salt, and add a generous bit of pepper, which interacts nicely with the lemongrassiness. Add the wontons, and bring back to a boil. Simmer until you are sure the filling is cooked through, sprinkle with cilantro, and consume.

I used to have a lovely deep blue and white patterned bowl, with a celadon exterior, and a matching porcelain spoon. This was the perfect vessel for such things, but it bit the dust in a Frightened and Frenzied Cat Incident- so here is my soup, all alone. It made me feel very unsorry for myself, well steamed, and relaxed.

*Yes, I do realize these things never come out even...it will probably be close, though.